Chance of a lifetime
by Cassandra Pierson
Summary: Being sent to recruit someone for the Atlantis expedition wasn’t Rodney’s idea of a good time. McShep


**Title:**Chance of a lifetime**  
Author:** ca_pierson**  
Beta:** darkmoore**  
Fandom:** Stargate Atlantis**  
Pairing:** McKay/Sheppard**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Word count:** 16.927**  
Warnings:** language (a little bit)  
**Genre:** AU

**Disclaimer:** Stargate Atlantis doesn't belong to me, neither do the characters. This is a transformative work and I am not making any money from it.

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to darkmoore on livejournal, you're the best big sister one could want and generally just the best. Thanks for betaing this monster. Madeira, thanks for the collaboration and the inspiration. This story was written for the artword color challenge #16 over on livejournal. The artwork to the story has been posted on the livejournal of the artist (madeira) and with the story on my own livejournal, if you're interested.

* * *

Chance of a lifetime

Rodney looked nervously at the door. He'd been sitting in the rental car for nearly ten minutes already and he just couldn't make himself get out and ring the door bell. This was going to go over _so badly_ and there were a lot of things Rodney would rather be doing that afternoon than this. "Hi! I'm Doctor Rodney … no. Hi, I'm Rodney McKay and ... no, that sounds awful. Hi, I'm Doctor Rodney McKay and I have to talk to you …" What the hell did they usually say when trying to recruit someone? His own experience had been rather peculiar, what with being approached by the CIA after he'd built a working model of a nuclear warhead for a science fair. Throwing lots of money around – or threats for that matter – really didn't seem to be the right way to deal with this particular situation, though.

Rodney glanced at the orange manila folder on the front passenger's seat with trepidation. He wondered exactly what kind of man he'd meet once he finally got it together enough to go and knock on the door. Maybe, Rodney thought, he should have had a closer look at that folder after all. But really, he wasn't all that interested in anything beyond getting back to Colorado as quickly as possible. He'd much rather spent his time working on his current project instead of recruiting somebody. It would certainly be a much better use of his brain in Rodney's opinion. Taking one last deep breath Rodney managed to actually leave the car.

General Landry had imparted all the important facts on Rodney during an absolutely unbearably long briefing before he'd left Colorado. That certainly should be enough to do what Landry had ordered Rodney to do. Even without looking at nothing beyond the first couple of photos in the rather extensive file he'd been given. Rodney felt rather confident he could identify the man he was supposed to recruit. It wasn't like he had been _asleep_ at the briefing, after all. Landry had painted the picture of a man who went above and beyond duty to do what was _right_ and Rodney couldn't help but wonder if reality would fall short of what he imagined, or not. With a sigh, he opened the door and heaved himself up, only to stand at the foot of the two steps that led up to the door in hesitation for what seemed like a year. This was going to be uncomfortable, Rodney just knew it. Sighing again, Rodney squared his shoulders, took the steps and rang the doorbell before he could lose his nerve again.

Rodney waited. A minute, then two. But there was no answer. Maybe he was listening to music or watching a film? Rodney rang the doorbell again, longer this time, to make sure it would be heard.

Then the door was finally opened. "Yes?" The photo during the briefing hadn't done the man in front of Rodney any justice at all. John Sheppard was tall, with dark hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb rather than artfully tousled. Standing in the door-way, casually leaning against the frame, Sheppard could have been modeling, he was just that handsome. But his skin was pale – the kind that came from illness, not from staying inside too much - and he was squinting at Rodney in a manner that made Rodney think he had come at a bad time.

Oh well, that couldn't be changed anymore, Rodney thought and forced himself to smile, using his perkiest voice. "Hi! I hope I'm not disturbing you. I'm Doctor Rodney McKay and I'd like to talk to you about–"

"I'm not buying anything," Sheppard said, his squinting turning into a full-out glare and his casual bearing visibly tensing, but his face remained carefully blank.

"I'm not _selling_ any–" Rodney tried to answer, but the door had already been closed in his face. Grimacing, Rodney rang the doorbell again, determined to get the message across this time. He was a genius and he damn well could do this; at least that's what Rodney was trying to tell himself. Of course, he was well aware of his social inabilities and Rodney wasn't given to illusions of grandeur. Genius or not, he was crap at dealing with people.

The door opened again immediately and the neutrality had seeped out of Sheppard's expression and had been replaced by annoyance. "What?" he asked, his voice harsher than Rodney thought necessary.

Rodney swallowed, again forcing himself to smile. It was probably closer to a grimace now and he was sure he looked absolutely ridiculous, but he figured it was something that was _expected_ one did when trying to recruit someone. "Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot and all, but I'd really like to talk to you about–"

"I'm not interested in talking about god, the world, or anything related to religion," Sheppard said with a finality that spoke of exasperation and some experience with these kind of things. Then he closed the door before Rodney could even open his mouth again to answer him.

"Well, damn," Rodney muttered and sat down on the steps leading up to the door. He had no idea how to progress from here. Sheppard didn't exactly seem to like company. Okay, so he'd first sounded like a salesman. Rodney could get behind closing the door on people like that. Had done it himself a few times and probably would again if the opportunity arose. But Sheppard could at _least_ have let him finish talking the second time before he'd closed the door on him. That the man apparently thought he could be some sort of religious nut only added insult to injury.

Staring gloomily at his rented Volvo, Rodney tried to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do now. He thought he could probably just go back to the hotel, or call the SGC and tell them that _this_ was obviously not working. Maybe Landry would let him go back to his lab in the face of the abject failure that was "Project Recruit John Sheppard". There were a few _real_ projects he had been working on and he hoped that his underlings wouldn't muck them up too badly before he managed to get back.

"You're still here," Sheppard suddenly spoke up from behind Rodney, almost giving him a heart attack.

Rodney twisted and looked up to see Sheppard there, squinting down at him with a curious expression on his face. He must have been sitting there for longer than he'd thought, since his backside was uncomfortably numb. Funnily enough, Rodney still didn't know what to say. "Yes, I really do need to talk to you," he forged ahead, hoping Sheppard wouldn't _punch_ him this time, considering there was a distinct lack of door between them.

"Gee, you're one persistent bastard," Sheppard muttered with a kind of wonder that was entirely misplaced. He even grinned at Rodney, then locked his door and carefully descended the two stairs down to the sidewalk. "I'm really not interested in joining your sect," he said evenly without looking at Rodney.

Rodney stood and threw up his hands in disgust. "I'm not a religious fanatic," he declared passionately, his voice expressing _exactly_ what he thought of religion in general. "As far as I'm concerned there _is_ no god. And I don't sell anything either. I've been _ordered_ to come here – against my will, I might add – and I need to talk to you." There. Finally. That was what he should have said in the first place.

With a sigh Sheppard turned back to him from the bottom of the steps. He looked Rodney up and down once, then seemed to study his face for an eternity, before he _finally_ nodded once and turned to go down the street. "Well, come on. If you wanna talk you'll have to walk with me."

Rodney stared after him for a long time, shocked at the limp and the way Sheppard held himself so stiffly, before he practically ran to catch up with him. The implications of the last entry into Sheppard's service record Landry had gone on and on about hadn't quite sunk in before. "Should you be on that leg?" Rodney asked, amazed Sheppard wasn't on crutches. There were going to be words. Long words with Landry about not telling him that Sheppard hadn't recovered from his injury at all. Words about how the pictures were obviously _lying_ because Sheppard couldn't possibly go back on active duty like this.

"None of your business," Sheppard just grunted, sweat already beading on his forehead.

Frowning, Rodney fell into step beside Sheppard and tried to ignore his efforts. There was no way Sheppard was going to respond well to any offers of help. Neither was he going to appreciate pity and Rodney didn't want to lose what little headway he'd made with the man. Not that he'd call it headway, but Sheppard was talking to Rodney and he was desperate enough to view it as a success. "So, are we walking very far then?" he asked, unable to help himself. "I mean, it's just … I doubt you can make it around the block, never mind any further and you don't look like you should even go that far." Damn it, he was babbling and Rodney really, _really_ didn't want to babble right then.

Sheppard didn't answer, instead he bit his bottom lip.

The look of concentration and pain on Sheppard's face made Rodney ache a little in sympathy, but it made him shut up at least. Trudging along, carefully measuring his steps so Sheppard was setting the pace, he finally decided he should probably have another go at the recruiting thing. "Well," he started. "Yes." This was so much harder than he'd thought it would be. "I'm here because there is a job vacancy my organization is trying to fill right now. We'd like to offer you the option to sign on." There. That hadn't sounded half-bad. Actually, that had been really good. Rodney was pleased with himself.

Sheppard just snorted. It was a harsh sound, tinged with pain and derision.

"It's the chance of a lifetime, Mister Sheppard," Rodney said, trying to cover his shock over the blatant lack of curiosity and failing miserably. "This is the most amazing offer you've ever had and ever will get. You really should come with me and allow me to introduce you to the people in charge." How could anyone _not_ be intrigued by that?

They stopped and Sheppard turned toward him. Again Rodney noted how pale Sheppard seemed. The complete opposite of the healthy tan he'd had in the photo Landry had projected on the wall during the briefing. "Look, McKay," Sheppard said and Rodney was surprised he remembered his name, "I don't give a damn what you, or your organization do. At the moment I wouldn't be very useful and I'm not going to fly a desk. No matter how well paid the job is." He took a few deep breaths and started walking again.

"It's not an office job," Rodney said, having heard the underlying scorn in the words. Of course it wasn't an office job. There was no place for that on the expedition. Rodney's mind flashed to Carson and all the futuristic equipment he had access to. There should be something he could do, no? Huh, Rodney thought. Maybe he hadn't even been lying to Sheppard just then. Maybe there really was something that _could_ make Sheppard well enough to allow him to come along as something other than a security blanket and light switch. Landry and the IOA probably wouldn't care either way.

"I. Don't. Care."

Each word was accompanied by a little huff and so clearly enunciated that Rodney almost wanted to back off and leave. But he didn't. Whatever he'd imagined when he had been carted out here into the middle of no-where, it hadn't been this. Actually, even though he'd been terrified of the whole thing, Rodney hadn't thought getting John Sheppard to join them would be too hard. He'd expected questions about the job that he wouldn't be allowed to answer until clearance was given. He'd expected excitement, hope, maybe even longing. What he hadn't expected was … this. "Aren't you even a little bit curious?" Rodney asked, decidedly disappointed.

"No," Sheppard said, now panting and clearly in pain, "not really."

Floored by that, Rodney swallowed down his automatic question of "are you a moron?" and stayed silent instead. What was he supposed to say to such idiocy anyway? That was when Sheppard stumbled and Rodney automatically made a grab for him, keeping the man from ending up face first on the sidewalk. It was a close thing, because Sheppard was heavier than he looked. "Oh my god, are you sure you should be walking?" Rodney asked again, near panic. He didn't like the small sounds of pain Sheppard was making, didn't like the way he practically clung to Rodney's arms, like he couldn't keep himself upright. "Should I call an ambulance?" Sheppard shook his head, hair tickling against Rodney's neck, breathing harshly.

"Just walk me back to the house, would you?"

Rodney helped Sheppard regain his footing and slung his arm around Sheppard's slim waist. The way back seemed longer than before, maybe because they had to stop every few steps for Sheppard to rest and breathe through the pain.

"Maybe I really shouldn't have been walking," Sheppard finally panted. His voice was tight with pain, but there was a trace of amusement in it that even Rodney could hear. It was – to say the least – odd.

"Really?" Rodney asked, exasperated and more than just a little bit freaked out by Sheppard's levity. "I thought it was normal to fall flat on your face after a hundred meters," he continued sarcastically, remembering too late that he was supposed to be _nice_ to Sheppard.

Instead of glaring at him and telling him to fuck off, though, Sheppard surprised Rodney with a chuckle and by slinging an arm around Rodney's shoulders to support himself better. "No, that's only when walking with people who want to hire you," Sheppard answered.

"Good to know," Rodney answered, surprised by Sheppard's change in mood. Normally people started treating him like he was an asshole around this time in a conversation. "So. Now that I have you in my clutches," he said tentatively, "maybe you could at least give me a chance and let me explain properly?"

They finally reached Sheppard's house again and he was holding onto the handrail with the left hand and still clinging to Rodney with the right. "Okay," he agreed amiably before he started up the stairs with obvious difficulty. "Isn't it usual to take someone out for dinner to make them more malleable?" he asked, looking Rodney in the eyes for the first time since they'd started on their way back. In his pale face his eyes were a startling green. Sheppard didn't exactly look like he could go anywhere, never mind sit through a dinner at a restaurant.

Rodney frowned. "I guess I could spring for some Chinese, if you know a good takeout," he said and Sheppard looked at him for a moment, prompting Rodney to backpedal "If you like Chinese, that is? Pizza is fine, too, or maybe Thai?" Then Sheppard smiled at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Rodney's heart did something really funny at that and for a moment he thought he was having a heart-attack.

"Chinese is good," Sheppard answered and unlocked the door. "Come on in."

Maybe this recruiting business wasn't _that_ hard, Rodney thought, rather pleased with himself. He helped Sheppard into the house, locked the door behind them, and settled Sheppard on the couch, then went about ordering them some food. Rodney had definitely thought it would be harder. Much, much harder. The rest should be a piece of cake.

Or so he thought.

Once he'd deposited Sheppard on the couch Rodney had watched him dry-swallow two pills. Rodney didn't feel comfortable sitting down uninvited, so instead he hovered in the empty space near the door. The living room was amazingly empty. Apart from the couch, a low coffee table and a 45'' HDTV there was nothing there. Just a lot of empty space. A DVD player was sat on a side table next to the TV, with a few awkward stacks of DVD's hazardously arranged around it. It left the large room strangely bare.

"Are you going to collapse on me?" Rodney asked, a pang of panic and visions of an unmoving Sheppard on the floor in front of the couch overcoming Rodney's need to freak out internally. Which was what he'd planned to do. "You are, aren't you?"

"No, McKay, I'm _not_." Sheppard's voice was still rough with pain, but he had caught his breath and sounded that much better for it already. "Come here," he ordered, "and sit down before _you_ collapse."

Doing as he had been told Rodney sank onto the couch carefully. He was careful not to jostle Sheppard, not wanting to be the cause of even more pain.

"You don't look so good right now, McKay, you sure I'm the sick one here?" And there it was again, that odd amusement despite the pain.

It freaked Rodney out more than anything else. "Are you _deranged_?" Rodney asked before he could stop himself. "No, really, this is a serious question. Are you crazy? I don't see anything funny whatsoever in our current situation. If I hadn't been there you'd still be out there on the sidewalk and here you are finding it _funny_? The soft sciences are somewhat squishy and I don't particularly care about most of them, but if you aren't crazy then something is seriously wrong with your head, because nothing I've seen up to now has been any source for amusement. You could have fallen and broken something, or worse, you could have concussed yourself and lost some more brain-cells. And let me tell you something, you really can't afford to lose them, because clearly, you are a moron." Full on panic was always fun and Rodney could feel himself starting to hyperventilate.

"It's alright, buddy." Sheppard was patting his shoulder awkwardly, then pushed a little until Rodney bent over and put his head between his knees, taking cleansing breaths. "Calm down." They stayed like that for a while, Rodney breathing, Sheppard rubbing his back, muttering useless reassurances that were tinged with a painful hitched inhale whenever Sheppard had to move a bit. To say the situation was awkward would have been an understatement. When Sheppard took his hand away with one last pat, he suddenly laughed and Rodney looked up sharply, ready to glare at Sheppard for all he was worth. "You know what? This is the first time someone had a breakdown because of me, usually I'm the one freaking out." His eyes glittered with mirth and Rodney could almost see the man who had first opened the door again as the lines of pain vanished. Sheppard looked happy.

"I'm glad I could at least provide some entertainment," Rodney said, rather stiffly, but at Sheppard's half-smile and renewed laughter, Rodney decided he didn't care all that much. There probably wasn't much happiness in Sheppard's life. Still, Rodney didn't want to dwell on his performance and decided to change the subject to something neutral. "We should order the food."

"Yeah," Sheppard said, still smiling, but the hand that had been patting Rodney in reassurance earlier was now rubbing Sheppard's left thigh and the pain was back around his eyes. He motioned at the coffee table with his free hand and Rodney saw the menus arranged there. "Pick one."

"Huh." Rodney took a few. Italian. Chinese. Pizza. Thai. Indian. Chinese. "Which of these is less likely to kill me by ignoring special orders?" he asked and waved the menus at Sheppard.

Sheppard grinned and plucked them all out of Rodney's hands. He rifled through them quickly, then handed one back to Rodney. "This one's really good. Food allergy?"

"Citrus," Rodney answered, fishing for his cell phone. "Absolutely deadly. So unless you do want me to collapse, they'd better be very careful." He read over the menu, then looked at Sheppard expectantly. "What do you want?" Rodney hoped Sheppard wasn't the type of person that agonized over what to pick for food too long. He was starving.

Ooo00O00ooO

When Landry had handed over the orange manila folder, Rodney had thought he'd been joking. He'd actually _asked_ if Landry was being serious. Had straight out told the general that he was unsuited to recruit anybody and practically begged him to send somebody else. However, Landry hadn't really cared. Had said that based on the information they had, Rodney was the best man for the job. Then, he'd pointed out that he was contractually obligated to do this. That was before the abominably long briefing. Before Elizabeth wishing him good luck. Before Sam had told him he should be glad his job didn't depend on his abilities as a recruiter.

Apparently Rodney had been too eager to sign when _he_ had been asked to join the SGC. Because – as far as Rodney could tell – he hadn't really _read_ some parts of his contract properly. Landry had been right. It was all in there. Point 42, subsection c, number 4 _clearly_ stated that he could be sent to recruit people for the project if needed. This time, Rodney decided, as he was watching Sheppard sleep, his head resting on the back of the couch, slightly leaning against Rodney, he'd forgive Landry for making him do this.

The pain, the painkillers, the exercise, probably everything together had tired Sheppard out and he'd dozed off in the middle of a sentence. They had been debating the attributes of Chinese in comparison to Thai and Rodney could say with absolute honesty – and when was he anything _but_ honest? – that it had been one of the most interesting conversations he'd had in ages.

Still, Rodney couldn't help but feel awed and somewhat privileged that Sheppard had felt comfortable enough in Rodney's presence to actually sleep. That was why he had only half-heartedly tried to wake Sheppard up again. Even Rodney could see that he needed rest from the way the skin around Sheppard's eyes looked bruised. Instead, he kept himself busy surfing TV channels and reading the names off the DVD cases he could see from where he was sitting. Sheppard definitely had taste, Rodney could see that much. And as he sat there on Sheppard's couch, waiting for their food, Rodney found himself wanting Sheppard to come with them. So he could have this again, when they were in Atlantis.

The door bell rang, ripping Rodney out of his thoughts and at the same time Sheppard made a startled noise. He abruptly sat up straight, just to curl up in on himself in reaction to what must have been intense pain. Rodney paled, realizing that this was most likely why Sheppard had taken so long to open the door for him earlier and felt a pang of guilt. "I'll go get it," Rodney said, hoping it was enough of an apology. He was out in the hallway, leaving Sheppard curled up on the couch, both hands on his left thigh as if trying to contain the pain.

While he paid for the food he made sure that there was no citrus in any of it one last time and the delivery man – suitably cowed – assured him three times that it had never seen a lemon. Rodney went back into what passed for Sheppard's living room, unsure of what to do when he found Sheppard still curled up. He was rocking slightly, face even paler and drawn, his hands rubbing his thigh.

"Food's here," Rodney said awkwardly. He never knew what to do when someone was ill, or in pain. Especially not to someone who had only a moment ago been leaning onto him in sleep. 'Awkward' didn't even start to cover the way Rodney felt right then.

"Could you get me some water?" Sheppard asked, his voice rough, indicating the second door, which, Rodney presumed, lead to the kitchen.

Rodney nodded and put the food on the coffee table before entering what was – at best – the quarter of what anybody would consider a kitchen. Opening the cupboards was unnecessary, most of them lacked a door and there only seemed to be a total of two plates, three forks, spoons and a knife, a cup and a glass. Sheppard really seemed to be a firm believer in minimalism. Or maybe he'd just been unable to do much since he'd left the Air Force. Suddenly Rodney felt bad for knowing so much about Sheppard without him being aware of it. Though, even with the facts nothing had prepared Rodney for the reality of what a medical discharge could mean. Certainly not for this, not for the pain, for the pale face, for the shaking. He filled a glass with water and then decided to take the plates and forks for them, too, while he was at it.

Back in the living room, Rodney handed Sheppard the water and watched him swallow down two pills Sheppard already had in the palm of his hand. Rodney busied himself by putting out the food, sharing everything out as evenly as he could, then sat down next to Sheppard, watching him slowly uncurl and relax as the painkillers took off the edge. "It's that bad?" Rodney asked as he helped Sheppard to sit back up properly again.

"Sometimes," was the terse answer he received. "Depends on the day really. It's the weather, too. Most days I can actually make that walk without trying to kiss the sidewalk." It sounded like every word was torn from Sheppard, like he was unwilling to admit that he was hurting at all.

Rodney handed Sheppard one of the plates and a fork. "You shouldn't have those on an empty stomach." It was the only thing he could say. Everything else seemed … wrong.

Smiling ruefully Sheppard nodded. "Yeah, I know, the yellow one is actually something to protect my stomach lining. They've had me on those since … I've been on those from the beginning."

Rodney frowned, hearing the unsaid "since the crash" and deciding not to go there. If Sheppard didn't want to tell him, he'd pretend he didn't know. It was better for the both of them. "Good," was all he said before he started digging in.

Sheppard ate much slower and soon all he did was push the chicken around. "I'm not all that hungry," he finally said and looked surprised when Rodney took plate and fork out of his hands and put it on the coffee table. "Thanks." He watched Rodney eat for a while with an expression of awe on his face, like he'd never seen anybody eat before. "So," he finally said when Rodney was chasing the last bit of rice around on his plate. "About that job … you see now, why I can't take it, right?" Sheppard asked, his tone resigned.

"We have excellent medical facilities," Rodney said immediately, wishing he could tell Sheppard that their infirmary was also years ahead of conventional medicine. There was no doubt for Rodney that they could actually do something for Sheppard. "I'm sure the doctors we have could help you." There had to be _something_ they could do. Carson would certainly at least try. And even if there was nothing, they could at least repair part of the damage and the pain might not be that bad anymore.

Sheppard snorted at that. "I've seen a few doctors, McKay. I've seen _specialists_," he said, his voice conveying his disgust, "and they said that it's permanent. I really doubt anybody you've got could change that." Through it all Sheppard looked wistful, though, like he hadn't given up hope quite yet.

Seeing an opening, Rodney went for it. "You could give them a chance? I know it's all voodoo and not very reliable, but some witchdoctors are better than others, and I know for certain that the ones we've got are amongst the best."

"Not really a fan of medicine, are you?"

Rodney frowned. "Medicine is such an imprecise field of study, it doesn't deserve to be called a science," he said and watched Sheppard's eyes brighten and a slow smile spread over his face. "I'm not joking," Rodney insisted, indignant.

"Yeah, I figured that," was the mild answer. "So, what organization are you working for, then?"

This was a question Rodney should have been expecting, should have rehearsed an answer for, but he hadn't. "Well … see … I'm a civilian contractor for the Air Force." He hadn't even finished the sentence before all emotion had left Sheppard's face, leaving the neutral mask from earlier behind.

"I see," Sheppard said, voice as devoid of emotion as his face. "I told you, I'm not going to fly a desk. If I wanted that, I could have had it."

Frustrated beyond belief by Sheppard shutting him out like that, Rodney stood and started pacing. "Yes, yes, so you said. And I told you, Mister Sheppard, that we have no intention of giving you an office job. If you decide to come and work for us it'd be in the field."

"No," Sheppard said, looking so stubborn and downright _mulish_ that Rodney was taken aback. "Thanks, McKay, but no thanks. Whatever you want me for, I'm definitely not the right person for the job." He got up with some difficulty and started walking to the front door. "And now I'd appreciate it if you left."

Rodney felt a little annoyed at that. He'd hoped Sheppard would at least give them a chance, listen to their explanations and hear all the _good_ bits of what they were doing. "If you'd just come with me to sign the non-disclosure agreement and see for yourself what we're working on–"

"Don't make me call the police," Sheppard said, stopping Rodney from saying all the things he desperately wanted to say. Sheppard stood there, the door open, pointedly not looking at Rodney.

"Okay," Rodney said and sighed, "of course. I'm leaving." He went to the door, then decided one last try wouldn't hurt. "But if you change your mind and at least want to know what you're saying no to, give me a call." He held out a business card with his cell-phone number and the scribbled hotel number on it and Sheppard took it with visible reluctance. "Good night," Rodney concluded softly, "try not fall on your face." When he got into his Volvo he looked back to the house and Sheppard was standing there, watching Rodney with an unreadable expression. He was still holding the card.

This could have gone so much better. Also could have gone worse, though. Rodney wondered what he should tell Landry when he called the SGC to update them.

Ooo00O00ooO

The knock on the door was surprising. Even more surprising was that his visitor was John Sheppard. In the flesh. He was pale again and the lines of pain around his mouth made Rodney feel guilty even though he _knew_ it wasn't his fault that Sheppard had thought it a good idea to walk that far. "Sheppard, what the hell? You shouldn't be on your feet."

"And hello to you, too," Sheppard answered, his voice normal even as his knuckles whitened with the force he was using to hold onto the wooden door-frame. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd," he paused and visibly swallowed, "stop by and apologize for being a jerk."

Rodney stared for a bit longer, then he cleared his throat. "Come on in," he said and suppressed the urge to take a hold of Sheppard's elbow and help him. "Take a seat," Rodney added, thinking Sheppard was stubborn enough to remain standing unless actually told to sit. He looked as exhausted as Rodney felt after the last day, really. First taking a military transport, then working all night and day and mulling over what he could have done differently to convince Sheppard. It had been a trying 24 hours since Sheppard had told him to leave. Sheppard looked like he was about to keel over and Rodney was worried. "You should have called."

"McKay," Sheppard said, sounding amused, "I kicked you out of my house and threatened to call the police. Figured it was more polite to come here and apologize first." Rodney didn't miss the relief that flickered across Sheppard's face as he sat down on the only chair.

"Please," Rodney muttered, unsure of how to react to that. People rarely apologized to him. "I've been insulted far better than that in my time. I've _insulted_ better than that as well. No need to apologize."

The laugh was small, but there. Sheppard's whole face lit up with it. "If you say so." But Rodney could hear the unspoken "thank you" beneath it. "That's all I wanted, to say 'sorry'." Sheppard made to get up.

Rodney waved him off. "Stay for dinner. I was going to get room service. I heard they make excellent burgers here." In a way, Rodney couldn't say he was surprised when Sheppard shook his head and got up anyway. "Come on, Sheppard. You know it's part of the game. We still want to hire you, just accept the perks of free food."

At first Rodney thought that Sheppard would still leave, but then he simply moved to the couch and settled down there, getting comfortable. "A burger sounds good."

Relieved, Rodney placed their order and allowed Sheppard to just relax a bit, hoping he'd take the opportunity for an impromptu nap again. The man was too pale and the dark smudges underneath his eyes had become more pronounced.

"Stop looking at me like that," Sheppard suddenly snapped, like he had eyes in the back of his head.

"I'm not looking at you," Rodney immediately interjected. "And even if I was, how would you know, your back is …" Rodney trailed off as Sheppard waved at him through the mirror with a rather bright smile "… turned to me," he finished lamely.

"I'm not going to break, McKay."

Rodney crossed his arms, clenched his teeth and glared at Sheppard through the mirror. "Well pardon _me_, but you look like crap. I doubt you can manage to make it to the elevator on your own right now, never mind to the reception or into a _cab_."

"Are you worried about me?" Sheppard asked, his eyes wide with surprise as he still held Rodney's eyes in the mirror. "I'm touched."

"Touched in the _head_, yes. If you'd called I'd have come to your front door," Rodney said, angry without knowing why exactly. And he wasn't even angry at Sheppard. He was angry at Landry for putting him into this whole situation, angry at Samantha Carter for rubbing his new status as recruiter in when he'd been leaving. Angry at himself for being unable to tell Sheppard what the man needed to hear in order to join them. So angry because there was nothing Rodney wanted more than Sheppard joining them because he wanted to go. So. Much. "They sent me here to recruit you, you idiot, I'd have trudged through an ice-storm and begged you to forgive me on my _knees_ in order to get you to listen to me again."

"I'm sure you look good on your knees," Sheppard quipped playfully, taking the wind out of Rodney's metaphorical sails very effectively, "but somehow I can't see any of that being your style."

All Rodney could do is stand there and look at Sheppard through the mirror, knowing he was flushed and not quite sure how to answer that. "No," he finally managed, "not really."

When the knock came, Rodney nearly jumped out of his skin, the moment broken. They sat next to each other, each of them with a huge burger and a plate of fries in front of them to share. Neither saying much aside from "this is good" and "hey, get your own fry". Companionable silence wasn't something Rodney was experienced with. He hated silences of any type, because usually they were accompanied by people glaring at him or ignoring him. This, though, didn't leave Rodney with the need to fill in the blanks. It was almost peaceful.

"I think I'd better go get home now," Sheppard said when he came back from the bathroom from washing his hands. He looked awful and was rubbing a hand over his eyes in the absentminded manner of someone who was very tired. "It's been a long day."

"Stay," Rodney said hastily. He had the sudden image in his mind that if he let Sheppard out of the room, he would never make it home. That he'd end up face down on the street, writhing in pain from overestimating his ability to _walk_. And it scared him. "Take a nap, you're exhausted." He pointed his chin towards the double bed, hoping Sheppard would accept the rough invitation, also knowing any show of overt worry or smothering would send Sheppard out so fast he'd probably stumble over his own feet.

"I don't want to disturb you."

It wasn't quite an evasion, more an attempt at giving Rodney a way out if he really wanted it. But Rodney saw the look in Sheppard's eyes, and even though he was said to be an asshole with the social skills of a hyena, Rodney _could_ interpret body language if he cared to pay attention. "You won't. I was going to do some work." The matter-of-fact statement seemed to at least make sense to Sheppard, who nodded once and when to sit on the bed, bending down awkwardly to undo his shoes. Rodney turned away from him, settling at the desk, in front of his notebook, deliberately turning his back on Sheppard.

"You'll wake me up in an hour?"

Rodney frowned. He'd do no such thing. Sheppard looked like he hadn't had a proper night's sleep in weeks. "Of course." He wondered if Sheppard could hear the lie in his voice, but when he turned his head to look at the bed in the periphery of his vision, Sheppard had curled up on his right side, his breathing even. With a smile Rodney turned back to the notebook and checked his e-mail.

Ooo00O00ooO

John jerked awake, disoriented and in pain. It was always worst when he just got up. Once he'd been up a bit, he'd be better. He knew this, yet, some days, when the pain was exceptionally bad, when he woke up writhing in agony, John wanted to cry. Gentle snoring focused John's thoughts on his surroundings and with a flash he remembered where he was. McKay. Fuck. How long _had_ he been sleeping? It had been afternoon when John had finally reached the hotel, but it was dark now. He rolled over to lie on his back, breathing through the pain, his eyes closed tightly while he waited. Odd, how close McKay sounded. Sighing, John opened his eyes to look over to the desk he'd last seen McKay sit at. Instead he found out that McKay had apparently moved to the empty side of the bed at some point during John's nap. He was leaning against the headboard, head tipped to one side awkwardly and his hands still resting on the keyboard that was perched on his belly. It looked decidedly uncomfortable. John wondered how anyone could actually sleep like that. The screensaver was merrily running over the monitor, casting McKay's face into multiple colors as it declared cheerfully that the world was full of idiots and morons.

Getting up was a challenge, like always, but John managed to do it without cursing too loudly. He didn't really want McKay to wake up to him feeling like … this. He'd already put too many displays on in front of the man and the thought of making himself even more vulnerable than he already had made him cringe. No, it'd be better to take his medication, then rest a bit and wait until he was in less pain ... back to what passed as normal.

He had to swallow hysterical laughter at that. Since when was pain normal? John had never believed it when people had said that one got used to these things, but it was true. The pain had become part of him, bearable until he did something to make it flare up, or the weather changed, or something equally stupid and out of his control happened. John made his way to the bathroom slowly, holding onto every available surface. The wall, the couch, the desk. Then, finally he stood in front of the mirror; he took the pills and washed his face on autopilot. All he could do now was to wait for the painkillers to take the edge off.

The way back to the bed was just as slow and painful and he sighed with relief when he finally reached the bed again. He needed to lie down. And wake up McKay, really. Maybe rescue that notebook before McKay moved and it broke. But first, he needed to just be still for a bit. Sitting heavily on the bed he awkwardly lay back down and curled up on his right side again. He lay there, watching McKay sleep, breathing evenly until he felt fortified for his way home. But maybe this was as good a time as any to have that talk with McKay that'd send him back to wherever he'd come for. John didn't understand why McKay was still in town anyway.

His pang of conscience earlier had led to a phone call to the hotel, but he'd expected McKay to be gone by then. That the man would hang around and … wait, that thought hadn't even occurred to John. He'd fully expected to be told Dr. McKay had already vacated his room and left. That he'd never see him again, or hear from him again. And now John was lying on McKay's bed with the man himself snoring next to him. Funny how these things sometimes worked out.

John wondered briefly if he would have called the other number on McKay's business card if he hadn't reached him here. Probably not. Yes, he liked McKay. Without reason or rhyme. They'd _clicked_ somehow and – despite himself – John wished he could actually say 'yes', accept the job and go with Rodney.

All the more reason to talk about the matter again, without the threats of police involvement. John wanted – no, needed – McKay to understand _why_ he couldn't accept the offer. Needed McKay to understand the bitter truth. That John was useless, a cripple. Cautiously he took the notebook from McKay's unresisting hands and put it down in the empty space between them on an orange manila folder he hadn't even noticed before. There was a photo peeking out of it and John frowned. It looked strangely familiar. Without thinking he pulled on the photo and was then staring down at himself.

Ignoring the pain John grabbed the folder, rolled over to the edge of the bed, sat up and then opened it. A few more pictures fell into his lap. Cursing quietly John turned on the bedside lamp and looked at the photographs again, but closer. Him, shopping, on crutches, opening the door, through the fucking _window_ as he was walking through his living room clad only in boxer shorts.

"What the hell," he muttered and thumbing through the pages. His birth certificate was the first official document he laid eyes on and cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach. They had copies of all his report cards, service records, marching orders, his black ops training evaluations. _Mission reports._ He got up and retreated to the couch, leaning heavily against the back, staring at the sleeping man on the bed while his hands trembled and the orange manila folder crumpled between his fingers. McKay knew everything about him. Suddenly John couldn't take it anymore. "McKay," he hollered and as he watched the bastard sit upright in bed as if he was under attack and look around with wide, fearful eyes, John felt a stab of satisfaction. "What is this," he asked, keeping his voice as even as he could as he threw the folder at Rodney, shattering pictures and papers all over the floor and onto the bed. "Hmm? What the hell _is this_?"

The confusion on McKay's face cleared. "They wouldn't send me here without giving me _some_ information on you," he answered and shrugged.

Like it was nothing. Like they hadn't invaded his privacy, hadn't had him fucking followed. Taken _pictures_. He looked down and saw one of him in hospital, white, with a tube down his fucking throat. "Some information?" he echoed. This was unbelievable. That was John's whole _life_ laid out on the ugly hotel carpet. His _life_. John awkwardly bent down, holding onto the couch for dear life so he wouldn't fall flat on his face, to angry to care that he'd pay for this maneuver later, once the adrenaline was gone. He pulled one of the photos out from the tangled mess he'd made. It had been taken last week, the time and date stamp in the bottom right in irritating yellow. Showing John as he was unlocking the front-door. "Some information?" he repeated again, turned the photo for McKay to see. "_Some information_," he yelled and John couldn't get over that bit.

"Yes," McKay said, starting to pull together the sheets of paper and pictures. "The organization I work for doesn't recruit just anybody. They're very picky."

John threw the picture at McKay's head as he started to pick up the stuff scattered on the carpet. "All they need is my _death certificate_ and they'd have my entire life, McKay," John seethed. The whole thing made him so angry. "Someone followed me and took pictures."

"So I could identify you correctly," McKay muttered.

"You're fucking unbelievable, McKay," John screamed, the man couldn't _actually_ be that naïve. "Did you actually look at them? There are pictures from last week and back to kindergarten. What the _hell_ do you think you could have needed those for?" McKay stared at him for a moment, bent over, hand reaching out to the last piece of paper. Copies of the paperwork for John's divorce. _Jesus._

"I didn't put the dossier together," McKay suddenly said and drew back. "General Landry gave it to me before I left and I skimmed through the first few pages."

John forced himself to close his eyes and take a deep breath. When he opened them again McKay looked scared. "Fuck you," he said evenly and walked to the door as quickly as he could. "Fuck." With that, he left.

Ooo00O00ooO

Rodney was scared. But then, he was scared of a lot of things. He was afraid of dying in all kinds of different manners. Of being alone, of dying before the SGC started to declassify his work, of dying before he got his Nobel. He was afraid of citrus and dying of asphyxiation. And of whales. Those were just the things that readily sprung to mind without him even thinking a lot. Still, he was standing in front of Sheppard's door once again. His hand hovering over the bell, wishing to be anywhere but right here. The thing was that he was far more scared of General Landry than he was of Sheppard. At least he _knew_ he could outrun Sheppard right now. Guilt stabbed through him at the thought and Rodney groaned.

Pulling himself together he pressed the button and waited. He knew Sheppard wouldn't be rushing to the door and hoped that he wasn't in the habit of looking through the peephole. Because if he did? That door would so stay closed. As it was, Sheppard opened the door, stared at him for a moment, then closed it without a word.

Rodney sighed and rang the bell again. The door stayed closed. "Come on, Sheppard, I know you're in there and I'm not going away. We need to talk," he yelled and banged his fist against the door a couple of times. He could keep this up all day if he had to. And he would. Everything to not call in to the SGC and admit he had left the file on Sheppard lying around somewhere where the man had been able to look at it. Anything.

The door opened again. "McKay." It was all Sheppard said, but Rodney got a multitude of meanings from that. One of them was "fuck off", the other "_fuck you_" and – last but not least – "I trusted you enough to come to you and apologize for being a jerk, but now I take that back because you're an asshole". It hurt.

They stared at each other for a while, then Sheppard inflated visibly and stepped aside, waving Rodney in. This wasn't even a partial win, Rodney realized that. Sheppard most likely just didn't want to have this conversation in the doorway.

"I'm really sorry," Rodney blurted. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Sure. Everybody loves it when somebody invades their privacy," Sheppard said, his voice deadpan, face closed off.

He watched Sheppard sit down on the couch, but remained standing in the doorway. Sheppard hadn't exactly invited him in or told him to sit. "I know. For all it's worth, I'm sorry. I looked it through once, and I only paid attention to the pictures on top. It's why I was surprised to see the limp."

"So you didn't read my medical record. What a relief," Sheppard snarled. "I'm somewhat appalled that there aren't any nude photos of me in there. You want to take one? Just to complete the collection, of course."

Rodney didn't blame Sheppard. He'd looked through the file after Sheppard had left and had felt even more like a moron for leaving it lying around and carrying it with him everywhere. To say that the SGC had complete records on Sheppard would be an understatement. They'd had him under surveillance since the first alternate team had come through the 'gate. Pictures, records, reports, everything they could get their slimy hands on was in there. Every little thing. The folder was now in the safe-deposit box of the hotel. "I'm sorry," Rodney repeated meekly. There was nothing else he could say. "Would it help if I went down on my knees now?" He wasn't sure if he was making a dumb joke or if he meant it seriously, but he was glad he'd said it when Sheppard sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's not my fault," Rodney said again, willing Sheppard to believe him.

With another sigh Sheppard leaned his head against the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, I know," he suddenly said, all the fight having gone out of him. "They want me really badly, don't they?"

"Yes." He wasn't sure what to say to wipe the pain off Sheppard's face. A pain that – for once – didn't have anything to do with his injury. "They want you for this job."

"Fuck," Sheppard said, but it was less of a curse at Rodney this time. "They've got all this information about me, they know that my health is an issue. How can they still want to hire me? What kind of job _is_ this?"

"They just do, and I can't tell you that, you'd have to sign the non-disclosure agreement first. All I can tell you is that we – that I want you to come with me and listen to the people in charge."

"Have you _seen_ me?" Sheppard ground out. "I can't even take a walk around the fucking block without collapsing. I sleep on the _couch_ because I can't take the stairs. I had to sleep on your bed for _hours_ to rest up and barely made it to the cab. Just _look_ at me, McKay. Do I strike you as somebody you could send out into the field and trust to have your back? _Do_ _I?_"

Rodney had expected the anger, but the longing underneath the incensed words was a surprise, one Rodney could at least work with. "I wasn't lying when I said that we have excellent medical care. I'm sure they could do _something_."

"What if they can't?" Sheppard asked, turning his head to look at Rodney, his eyes full of something Rodney couldn't identify. Hope, maybe.

Rodney hesitated over that. But then Landry's _"do whatever it takes to bring him in"_ echoed in his ears. "All you have to do is sign a non-disclosure agreement and have them take a look at your leg. It's not like you'll sign your life away." He hated himself for saying it, because he knew that Landry didn't give a damn one way or the other. No-one cared about what Sheppard thought about it or if he was even capable of walking to the 'gate on his own, all they wanted was him. On the Atlantis expedition. So it could survive past a year. So Atlantis wasn't lost to them like it had been in many other universes. And wasn't that a comforting thought? That the only thing between the expedition and a watery, fiery, or otherwise unpleasant death was this fragile looking man. Once Sheppard had seen it all, there was no way he'd turn his back on that. Not if there were any alternatives left. Once he knew that he was the only thing between success and failure he'd come with them. Pain or no pain. Useful or useless. Rodney had gathered enough from what Landry had told him to know that Sheppard wouldn't want anyone to die because of his not being there.

Rodney had never really thought much of quantum dimensions, but they'd had a few visitors over the past months. More actually, but only twenty-four of them had been teams from Atlantis. Of those only two had not had a John Sheppard. And those two? They hadn't fared well at all. The other alternatives had never re-established contact with an Atlantis expedition that lacked both Sheppard and Rodney. To these universes, the city might be lost forever. Three years of no contact really did speak for themselves.

It wasn't Rodney's fault that the brass had concluded that they would only send the expedition if both their Sheppard and Rodney were going. Actually, it made a lot of sense, even if Rodney couldn't see what was so special about Sheppard that they couldn't do without him.

"You really think they could make it any better?" Sheppard suddenly asked, his left hand idly rubbing his thigh. "Or are you just telling me that to get me to reconsider?"

That was a valid question, actually. "I really think they might be able to help you. If you let them try. It can't really get any worse, can it?" The question slipped out without a conscious thought and at Sheppard's darkening eyes; Rodney wished he could take it back.

"I hope not," Sheppard just said. "God, I hope not," he repeated almost to himself.

Suddenly Rodney felt like he was intruding on a very private moment, with Sheppard's face showing some of the pain he felt, his eyes riveted on his hand, on his thigh. Rodney found himself taking the few steps towards the couch, reaching out to Sheppard, putting a hand on a drooping shoulder. "It's worth a try?" Rodney asked, and he was astounded at the gentleness in his own voice. He hadn't meant to put that in there at all. But Sheppard looked so … devastated. Aching to tell Sheppard to just take the chance, to give it a try, Rodney bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn't tell him about the Goa'uld healing device, couldn't tell him of the Asgard and their invaluable help. Couldn't tell him of the drugs and Ancient tech they had to repair the human body. "Try it, Sheppard," he said instead, putting all his conviction into the words, hoping the man would just accept them and do the right thing.

Sheppard closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again he didn't show the pain anymore. He was back to amused, actually, and the abrupt change threw Rodney for a loop, if there hadn't been the fine lines of pain around Sheppard's mouth, he'd have thought he'd imagined the past few minutes. "Non-disclosure agreement?" he asked.

"Yes," Rodney said.

"Air Force?"

Rodney nodded, suddenly aware that his hand was still on Sheppard's shoulder, but not wanting to draw attention to it right now by pulling away. "Yes, Air Force."

"They want me? Specifically?"

What the hell could he answer to that? Variations of "we won't be going without you" ran through his mind, but he figured that wasn't something he could tell Sheppard. "Yes," Rodney just said.

"Why?" And there it was, the curiosity Rodney had been missing before, the mindset he'd hoped to find. "Why me?"

"I can't answer that," Rodney muttered. Sheppard wouldn't believe it anyway. Not without seeing everything, not without standing in the gateroom, watching the Stargate come to life. He wouldn't believe it.

Sheppard's gaze burned into him, searching for something. Rodney didn't know what for, but when Sheppard smiled a little, Rodney knew he'd found it. "Alright, I'll sign. And I'll give your doctors a chance to look at me," he decided. "But you still have to take me out for dinner; I don't think takeout and room service count."

Just like that. Sheppard was willing to trust _Rodney's_ judgment, he based his decision entirely on what he'd said and what he couldn't say. It was a heady feeling. Rodney's stomach dropped out at the responsibility. It was one thing to lead a team of scientists in their quest for unbelievable discoveries, it was another to know someone was changing their whole _life_ based on what you were saying. Not like this, anyway. Not from this close-up. From one moment to the next recruiting John Sheppard felt like more of a bad idea than it had before. "Sheppard," Rodney started, but had to stop to wet his lips, "They want you on this mission. I want you on this mission. I'll be going as well and I'd feel … better if you were there, too." Sheppard raised an eyebrow at that, faint amusement clearly communicated through his look. "This is going to be one of the most exciting and important scientific discoveries of the century. What am I saying? Ever. One of the most exciting and important discoveries in the history of humankind. And they really, really want you to go. Without you the brass won't let us go. We need you."

He really shouldn't be telling Sheppard this, he _really_ shouldn't. But having watched him hunch in on himself, in that bare house, in his what he called a living room, left on his own even though he nearly gave his _life_ for the Air Force, that really kind of hurt in a way Rodney never expected. He couldn't understand how their technological advances were just shut away like this. When he'd joined the program he'd hoped that one day what they found out would trickle back into the scientific community. That they could make a difference on the greater scale, make people _think_. Start an avalanche of discovery and improvements all over the world. Of course none of the people _out there_ were ready for the whole truth. It'd be years – decades even – before they could even start to give the public all the details about the Goa'uld and the war with them, unless mass-panic suddenly became desirable. And still. Sheppard wouldn't be in pain if he'd been treated with what they had in Colorado. He wouldn't be in pain if they'd just … but no. Right now, that was an impossible dream. Maybe one day.

"I'm not sure you should be telling me that," Sheppard said seriously, but his eyes were gleaming.

Rodney shook his head. "No, I shouldn't. However, you're being a moron. And I can't stand it when people throw away opportunities that they clearly should take, just because they aren't using their _brain_. I don't understand why you're being this difficult. You should be _jumping_ at the chance to join us," Rodney started to rant, but was derailed by Sheppard studying him intently. Having Sheppard look at him like this – so close, with his head cocked to the right, an amused smile on his face – wasn't uncomfortable at all. It should have been, but the gaze made Rodney only feel … warm somehow.

"It's that important?" Sheppard asked, voice low and intimate.

Rodney stared back, blinking once. "No, no, not important at all, I'm just here for fun," Rodney answered, using his most ironic tone. Sheppard didn't seem particularly taken aback by Rodney's slip of temper, so Rodney didn't even _try_ to reign it in. "I _so_ enjoy coming out here into the middle of no-where–"

"Wichita Falls isn't the middle of no-where," Sheppard remarked dryly.

Rodney ignored Sheppard's comment and just raised his voice a bit, "–giving up my valuable time – time that I could spend in a _lab_, advancing _science_ – to try and convince stubborn former Air Force Officers to come with me. It's my favorite past time, actually." Rodney paused to take a breath before he continued. "_Of course not._. Yes, yes it _is_ that important, you moron. _Of course_ it is that important. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be here. They don't usually send scientists of my caliber to recruit. That's grunt work."

Sheppard grinned and then nodded sharply. Once. "No promises," he said, stubbornly repeating, "I won't fly a desk."

"What are you? A broken record? I _told_ you that we will do whatever we can to fix you. Are you actually paying attention or am I just talking because the sound of my voice is so soothing for you? You won't be working in an office. I can try and use less syllables for you, if you can't quite comprehend that. Carson and that other doctor what's-her-name will take a look and put you back together, good as new." How often _did_ he have to repeat that? Rodney understood that it was probably something very important for Sheppard, but for fuck's sake, he'd thought the man was at least reasonably intelligent. Maybe Rodney needed to re-evaluate his estimate of Sheppard's IQ downward by a few dozen points.

"I'm not a machine, McKay," Sheppard flared up, "you can't just take me apart and put me back together properly." He got up slowly. "And _excuse me_ for not being at the top of my game. How about _you_ take strong painkillers for half a year and see how well you deal with it?" He took out the bottle with the pills and practically threw them at Rodney, who fumbled to catch them. "Here, have a go at it, why don't you? Enjoy feeling hazy and like an idiot for a few hours every day."

"Sheppard," Rodney started, but stopped when Sheppard raised a hand to his head and rubbed it.

"Look, McKay, can we try and not quarrel? We were just getting along so well. Maybe you should have read my medical file at least. They've got me hopped up on some of the good drugs against the pain. They take the edge off, but it's still there, twenty-four/seven. I have to be drop-dead tired to get sleep and even then I only get three or four hours at once. You have no idea what that is like. If you really want to judge my intelligence you'll have to come back tomorrow. I've had a hard couple of days, alright?" He sat back down heavily, wincing in obvious pain. "I got you, though. It's not an office job." Sheppard rubbed a hand over his eyes and held out his other to Rodney. "My meds?" he asked and Rodney wordlessly handed them back. "Where do we need to go?"

"Colorado. I can have a plane for us tomorrow," Rodney said, trying to contain his relief. Once Sheppard was at the SGC, once he'd seen some of the _things_ they had, had seen the _Stargate_ and maybe met Teal'c, Rodney knew he'd be hooked. "Or maybe the day after. I'll make sure it's something better than a military transport." He would _not_ take Sheppard on one of those beastly things. The vibrations alone would probably kill him within the first hour. "There'll be a medic with us as well."

Sheppard's eyes had gone wide. "That's not necessary."

"Yes, it is," Rodney disagreed. "And I'll help you pack." And that was that.

Ooo00O00ooO

John wasn't sure if he should be grateful to Rodney McKay or hate him. Probably a little bit of both. The man was a whirlwind of energy and determination and John was pretty sure if he wanted something? He'd get it. No matter whom he had to bludgeon into submission using words.

It was kinda hot.

And also a little bit alarming. Certainly made John question his decision to go to Colorado with him. Though Rodney hadn't exactly talked John into it. There had been something about him … something that had made John want to trust him. Maybe it had been the disarming honesty and the longing for whatever it was they thought they'd need John for. Rodney really wanted to go. Desperately so. But he'd been strangely hesitant to actually manipulate John into anything. Which was definitely a point in his favor.

However, being picked up by a medical transport wasn't John's idea of fun. By the time they'd reached Sheppard Air Force Base he was drugged up to the gills and feeling terribly sleepy. He blamed Rodney, who just wouldn't _shut up_ … which seemed to have a calming effect on John. The fact that Rodney had spent what seemed most of the time talking about how odd it was that John was called Sheppard just like the base should have been weird. Or at least annoying, but it really, really wasn't. John blamed the drugs. Still, he wished they'd gone to Tinker, it wasn't that much further away.

He felt something nudge him in the shoulder and opened his eyes to come face to face with Rodney. "Are you alright?" Rodney asked, his eyes large. Beautifully blue.

"I'm great," John said, "never been better." He reached out and patted Rodney's cheek, wondering why it had been so easy to go from McKay to first-name basis over the course of just an evening. "You're funny." He liked Rodney. A lot.

Rodney gaped at him, then turned to the doctor and screeched – and wow, Rodney's voice could go _up_. "What the _hell_ did you give to him? He's completely high! You're supposed to get him safely to Peterson, not addict him."

The up and down of Rodney's voice lulled him in a bit and when John came to himself again he wasn't in the car anymore, but in the air. "Woah, did I miss the take-off?" he asked. John had _never_ slept through one in his entire life. Not even as a passenger. It was scary.

"How are you feeling?"

Oh. Rodney. That was Rodney. He'd stopped speaking, though. Possibly because he was waiting for an answer. "Fine. 'm fine," John said, wishing he wasn't lying down, from this angle he couldn't see out of the window. God, he wanted to pilot the plane. "I hate flying," John said, feeling unaccountably upset that he wasn't the one at the controls.

"You're a pilot," Rodney exclaimed and John thought he sounded somewhat shocked.

"Yeah, I miss it." He really did. _So much_ that it hurt sometimes. Trying to curl in on himself, John gave up when the restrains wouldn't give. He thought the pain of not being allowed to fly anymore was even worse than the pain from his injury. Well, especially right now, because his head felt kind of fluffy and his leg … didn't hurt at all actually. And all he would have to do to hopefully stay that way was to sign his freedom away. John giggled at the irony. He'd sign away his life in the hopes of getting it back at the same time. "Never gonna fly again," he muttered, suddenly realizing what all this could mean. He hadn't agreed to go with Rodney yet, but John couldn't see himself _not_ going with Rodney. Right then, John felt like crying.

"Oh god, oh god," Rodney muttered above him, his voice rising in strength. "Should he act like that? He's _crying_."

It was kind of nice hearing Rodney scream at the doctor again, but never mind how much John tried, he only caught snatches of it. He drifted off with a smile on his face, listening to Rodney's voice go up and down. Up and down … up and …

Ooo00O00ooO

When they finally landed at Peterson Air Force Base Rodney was more relieved than ever before. Sheppard had drifted in and out of sleep for the entire time they'd been on the plane. Talking nonsense, practically babbling. It had been increasingly difficult to keep track of what Sheppard had been actually talking about. Rodney suspected most of the conversation had taken place in Sheppard's head and Rodney wondered what some of it had actually been about.

They'd be spending an hour at the base before a medical transport was going to bring them to the mountain. Carson and Lamb would take over from there and Rodney just hoped the on-board doctor hadn't damaged Sheppard irreparably. Or Rodney would find him and destroy his _life_.

Sure, the doctor had said that the drugs in combination with a long stretch of sleep depravation could have this effect, but Sheppard had been so weird. Not at all Sheppard-like – and how Rodney could know that from spending a turbulent three days in the man's company Rodney didn't understand. It had been nice, though, watching television together the day before, talking. Sheppard had _laughed_ when Rodney had torn the science apart, had leaned into him trustingly and Rodney … he'd felt … it had been _fun_.

Holding onto his backpack nervously Rodney sat next to the stretcher they'd secured Sheppard to. He looked peaceful, sleeping like that, even if it was in an ambulance close to the airfield. Apparently the transport from the SGC had been held up and would take "just a little while longer". Not like it mattered, Sheppard would probably be sleeping until they reached the infirmary, the doctor had assured him.

"Rodney?"

So much for the voodoo, Rodney thought viciously. "I'm here, Sheppard," he said, trying for reassuring.

"Where am I?" Sheppard asked, still more asleep than awake and tried to reach out for him, getting agitated when he couldn't move. "Rodney?"

Rodney dropped his backpack and leaned over Sheppard, taking his hand. "It's alright, I'm here. You should go back to sleep."

"Not tired," was the belligerent answer, closely followed by a yawn. "Don't wanna."

Sheppard sounded like a petulant child. It was scary and endearing at the same time. If there was one thing Rodney hadn't expected it was Sheppard reaching out to him like that, depending on Rodney so much. Sheppard looked terrible, eyes wide in his pale face. Confused, disoriented. Rodney had to swallow around a lump in his throat before he could give Sheppard a wan smile and answer, "We're not in the air anymore." The memory of how agitated Sheppard had been when he'd woken up on the plane for the first time came back instantly. "Right now we're at Peterson, waiting for transport."

He wished they could have prepared this better. Landry must have known how bad Sheppard was off, even if he hadn't come out and said as much to Rodney at the briefing. But maybe Rodney should have known that being shot out of the sky and crash landing a helicopter should have translated to "being in excruciating pain 24/7". Rodney should have _known_. Sheppard had been right, he should have read the medical files at least, but Rodney hadn't. He hadn't cared enough about coming out here, hadn't even wanted to be there in the first place. Hell, for him all it had been was a punishment. Never mind how much they needed Sheppard, Rodney hadn't thought it was his responsibility to get him to join. Now? Now Rodney felt like an idiot for not paying more attention. It was beside the point that he was as unsuited for the job of a recruiter as was humanly possible. John Sheppard was probably the most important person for the Atlantis expedition next to the key scientists and Rodney should have handled the situation better. Not that that was still an issue, Rodney thought, sitting there, holding Sheppard's hand.

Completely against his will Rodney had started to _care_ for John Sheppard. "Not long now," Rodney muttered, hoping he was as reassuring to Sheppard as he wanted to be.

He blinked at Rodney a few times, as if he had trouble focusing on him. "Okay," was the answer.

Just "okay", in that trusting voice, a bit out of it and Rodney felt a surge of protectiveness well up inside of him. Tentatively Rodney reached out to brush his fingers against Sheppard's forehead the way his mother had always done when he was a kid and sick. "I hope you like pizza. Because that's what we're going to have for dinner. You remember? The one I'm going to take you out for when you're all better? There's this great little Italian restaurant in Colorado Springs everybody's been talking about. I haven't had time to try it out yet, you see, I'm a busy man. But I promised and I think you'll enjoy it, too." Running out of things to say, Rodney brushed his fingertips against Sheppard's forehead again and squeezed the hand he was holding, a little bit. Rodney wanted Sheppard to go back to sleep. All this was Rodney's fault, he shouldn't have talked over Sheppard's protests, shouldn't have _talked_ him into accepting the medical assistance. But … he was sure that John couldn't actually have made the journey on his own. Still, that Sheppard had given in had been a bit of a surprise. "So … pizza," Rodney said again, just because. It wasn't like Sheppard would remember a lot of the conversation.

"It's a date." Sheppard's voice was slurred and his eyes drifted shut. His breathing evened out and he was asleep again.

"Date?" Rodney asked out loud, his voice a startled squeak, wondering where exactly _that_ had come from. Sure, Sheppard had told him that he was funny, that his eyes were nice and had patted his cheek several times _and_ his bottom at one point during his drugged journey. Rodney hadn't taken any of that seriously, of course. Hello? Drugged up to his eyeballs? Rodney wasn't sure Sheppard even knew his own _name_ during the past few hours. But now … date. Rodney wasn't sure why or how, but apparently they were going on a dinner date.

He sighed. Maybe it was really all just the drugs and when Sheppard woke up he wasn't interested anymore. Which, really, he shouldn't. The man was ex-military after all. _American_ military, with all its bigotry and prejudices and hatred and a uniform code. Well, they'd still go out and have pizza and beer together. He knew for sure that Sheppard at least liked to spend time with Rodney. That would be good enough. It would _have_ to be good enough.

Trying to get his hand back was hard, because even while sleeping Sheppard's fingers where loosely curled around his hands and he'd whimper whenever Rodney tried to let go of him. Finally, he gave in and ended up holding Sheppard's hand for the rest of the journey to the mountain, even though the medic kept giving him odd looks. And if Rodney felt some amount of giddiness over being allowed to hold hands with Sheppard, no-one else had to know. At least Sheppard didn't wake up again.

Ooo00O00ooO

"Sheppard?"

John clawed his way out of sleep. There was no other way to describe it. The first thing he noticed was that he wasn't in motion anymore. It felt like he'd been carted from place to place for years now, but finally, there was no shifting underneath him, no noises from either car or plane. His head was still stuffed full of cotton, though. And there was an odd rapidly clicking sound John couldn't place. Opening his eyes was harder than ever before and the ceiling looked strangely unfamiliar.

"Sheppard?"

For a moment the ceiling changed in front of his eyes back to the one in the hospital he'd woken up at after the crash. The neon lamps that had nearly blinded him the first time he'd blinked to wakefulness. Then it was gone again and the concrete ceiling was back in focus with its own neon lamps that weren't quite as glaring though.

"John?"

He blinked carefully, then turned his head to look to the right, where the voice had been coming from. Rodney.

"I'm so glad you're awake," Rodney said. He was perched awkwardly on a plastic chair, a notebook on his lap and another one sitting on John's bedside table. "How are you feeling?"

John had dim memories of talking to Rodney during the journey, of holding his hands and listening to him babble and yell. "I–" he started, but his voice broke. After clearing his throat he tried again, "Water?"

"Oh, yes, of course, just a moment." Rodney put the notebook on his chair and went through the curtains that were surrounding his bed. When he came back he held a sippy cup. "Here," Rodney said and awkwardly pressed the cup into John's hand.

With a frown John raised his hand and took the damn _sippy cup_ himself. "Thanks," he rasped after the first mouthful, deciding not to make an issue out of it as long as he got some water. "Where am I?"

"That's classified; you'll have to sign the non-disclosure agreement first." Rodney answered with barely concealed excitement. John thought that he looked like he was dying to show John around and tell him what this was about. That was definitely something John could relate to, he wanted to know what exactly he had gotten himself involved with. "General Landry will come down once Doctor Lamb allows it." Rodney just watched John take a few more shallow sips, then he took the notebook and settled down again. It seemed like he'd just go back to whatever he'd been doing, but then he said, "You were really out of it. On the way here." By the expression of apprehension on Rodney's face he wasn't sure if he _really_ want to talk about it.

"I was?" John asked, frowning. He briefly wondered what he'd said while he'd been high, he didn't remember much of it. The last thing he recalled clearly was the doctor giving him the first injection and hooking him up to an IV. After that it was all very hazy. "I can't remember."

Rodney hummed, frowned, then nodded. "How are you feeling?"

"My head feels odd and I'm tired, but I don't hurt." That last bit was quite surprising actually. "Why don't I hurt?" he asked. Since he'd woken up from the artificial coma they'd put him as he'd slowly healed from his injuries he hadn't been without it and for some reason that was almost as disconcerting as waking up in agony had been.

"Doctor Lamb has you on some of the heavy duty painkillers."

"Rodney," John said, carefully, "the only things that got rid of the pain completely were opiates and they left me feeling like crap." His head was clearing rapidly now and he felt nearly normal. "This doesn't feel like an opiate."

Rodney _smirked_ at him. "It's not and I can't tell you what it is until–"

"I've signed the non-disclosure agreement," John interrupted. He'd worked for the Air Force long enough to know how these kind of things worked. Rodney just shrugged and his eyes went to the monitor of his notebook. John decided to take that as agreement. "I feel fine, though, maybe we could do that now?" he asked. It'd be nice to finally get something more concrete than just the general "this is going to be amazing" line.

John noticed the hesitance with which Rodney got up again, noticed the way he only almost looked at John like he'd seen and heard something that made it hard for him to actually face John again. An image flashed through John's mind, how he'd patted Rodney's face in order to calm him … how he'd done the same to Rodney's ass at least once. John flushed at the memory, hoping that it was all just a hallucination from the medication. But the way Rodney was acting … maybe John could blame it all on being high? He really liked Rodney and if they went on this mission together, John didn't think he could bear it if Rodney went out of his way to ignore him.

A rather good looking, dark haired woman preceded Rodney through the curtains. She was smiling as she offered John her hand. "Mister Sheppard? I'm Doctor Lamb. How are you feeling?"

John smiled back at her, registering a deep frown on Rodney's face as he shook Doctor Lamb's hand. "I'm fine, thanks. Whatever you gave me took care of the pain."

"I'm afraid it won't stay that way, but you should be fine for six hours. When the pain returns I want you back here ASAP. I've already notified General Landry, he's on his way. After that you can leave as long as you promise to use the wheelchair," she said.

Wheelchair? John couldn't help but flinch at that. He hated wheelchairs, he'd been forced to use one way too long when he'd been recovering and wasn't keen on a repeat. "I can manage if you give me crutches." That elicited the typical unhappy face from her that doctors usually got when you opposed them on anything. "Really," he said, giving her his most charming smile.

"No, sorry, that's not up for negotiation. I've had your records sent to me and I'm well aware of the severity of your injuries, you shouldn't be on that leg before the procedure," she answered. "For now you have the choice between either staying in bed or using the chair. Understood?"

Nodding mutely, John asked himself how long it would take to break the habit of obeying orders. Not that he had ever been doing so great in that regard anyway, but apparently he was better at the whole obeying thing when he didn't actually have to anymore. "Yes, ma'am," he found himself saying and suppressed the urge to throw a salute in for good measure.

She nodded at him, smiled briefly at Rodney and left them alone.

"The general should be here any minute, he's keen on meeting you," Rodney had just said when John could already hear steps and the curtain was pulled apart to allow an older, heavy-set man entry.

"Mister Sheppard," he greeted him. John didn't need to see the rank insignia on the man's uniform to know that this was General Landry, the expression in his eyes was sufficient.

"General Landry, sir," John answered.

Landry exchanged a look with Rodney and John could have sworn Rodney flinched, but only for a second, then Rodney's face was back to the neutral expression he'd sported since he'd gone to get Lamb. "I'm glad Doctor McKay could persuade you to come here."

John's eyes flicked to Rodney's, but he wasn't looking at John; his gaze was fixed somewhere on the wall behind John. "He was very convincing."

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Landry said and handed him a stack of papers and a pen, "but first you'll need to carefully read this and sign. Doctor McKay has … volunteered to show you around and bring you to my office later. The procedure has been planned for tomorrow, as far as I'm informed."

"Thank you, sir," John said, wondering what Landry hadn't said, but he'd already figured that Rodney hadn't volunteered so much as had _been_ volunteered. Meaning Landry wanted Rodney to show him around and keep him occupied and had expected resistance to that idea. Odd. "I'm looking forward to finding out what exactly you want from me, sir."

Landry smiled an odd little smile, partly amused, partly something else that made John wonder at what these people were _doing_. "I'm sure you are, son." Then he nodded at him, gave Rodney _a_ _look_ and left.

Interesting. Well, Rodney _had_ said he'd been forced to visit John. Maybe that was why Landry had just pretty much reinforced an order. John wondered if Rodney was aware of that. "I guess I should read this," John said to Rodney and waved at the stack of papers. It was a pretty long non-disclosure agreement. Alarmingly long. This thing was big, John knew that much already.

"You should. A word from the wise? When you read your actual contract? Don't skim it. There are some very cunning people working in the department that crafts them." Rodney had already settled in his chair again, notebook on his knees, typing rapidly.

John grinned. "I'll keep that in mind," he said and opened it on the first page. At least he didn't have to be here alone, because Rodney didn't make a move to leave. John was more thankful for that than he cared to admit.

Ooo00O00ooO

Rodney hadn't been this nervous about having dinner with somebody in _years_. He'd lost count over the number of outfits he'd tried on, and he really didn't care how he dressed like normally. Somehow, he wanted to look good for John Sheppard. It had been amazing to see John adapt to life at the mountain; he'd taken to it like a duck took to water, naturally. Not that Rodney had expected anything different. John _was_ ex-military after all, and the SGC was just another base. That he had the gene hadn't been a surprise – they'd already known that before Carson had tested him, courtesy of their visitors from alternate universes. Still, the strength of it had come as a bit of a surprise. He had a natural ability to operate Ancient devices, something that Rodney could very much see as an absolute necessity for the survival of the expedition.

Another surprise had been that Sheppard had agreed to come with them almost immediately after Rodney had given him the tour – always with the prefix of "if this works", but still. The procedure itself had taken an hour. Sixty minutes Rodney had spent on the abominably terrible plastic chairs in the infirmary, waiting for them to return Sheppard's bed to his alcove. They had been the longest sixty minutes of Rodney's life. He hadn't been worrying. Of course not, he didn't know Sheppard _that_ well. But Rodney felt responsible for Sheppard being there. Never mind that his hands had been clammy and he hadn't been able to concentrate on the work he'd brought. Oh no, he simply _couldn't_ have been worrying. That'd put too much emotion into this … _thing_ Rodney felt for John … Sheppard ... John. Damn it.

Rodney was determined to keep his distance from John, but that was getting harder every day. They'd simply connected on too many levels. John was about to be reinstated. Gain a rank, actually, being promoted from Major to Lieutenant Colonel. He was going to be the military leader of the Atlantis expedition. And Rodney knew he'd better put the thought of John smiling at him and patting his cheek out of his mind. Because there was no way anything could ever happen between the two of them. No matter how often John grinned at him joyfully when a device lit up in his hands that no-one else could get to work, how often he swung by the lab just to check up on Rodney, or how often he dragged him off to lunch or dinner.

So John's casual mention of how Rodney still owed John dinner had been a shock.

Rodney should have told him "no", should have said that he'd already gotten John a Chinese takeout and a burger, that he didn't owe John anything. But John had smiled at him in the same way he had smiled at Rodney after he'd woken up and found that his leg was better, that even the scars had vanished. Rodney just hadn't had the heart to say no in the face of that.

So there he was, nervously checking his outfit in the mirror for the tenth time. They were both living in the mountain most of the time. Rodney because he rarely bothered going home since he'd given his cat into the good care of his neighbor in preparation to their leaving, John because his house was in Texas. A house that by now was already packed up in boxes, his things being shipped to Peterson while his lease had already run out. It was scary how efficient and quick the SGC could be.

The knock on the door – when it finally came – was expect and still managed to startle Rodney. He cursed as he scrambled to the door, opening it with more force than necessary. Of course it was John. He was dressed in black jeans and a black shirt, making Rodney wish he could go change _again_ because of the way it made John look good enough to eat. "Hi," Rodney said, stupidly.

John just grinned at him, quickly looking him up and down. "Ready?" he asked, councing on his feet, looking way too energetic for the time of day. "I'm getting hungry."

With a sigh Rodney nodded and they made their way topside. John was happily drawing him into a discussion on the newest X-men film, but Rodney's heart wasn't really in it.

"Are you okay, Rodney?" John suddenly asked when Rodney settled in the front passenger seat. "You're so quiet."

Rodney almost laughed. No. No, he wasn't okay. He was lusting after the military leader of the Atlantis expedition. "I'm fine," he muttered, keeping the hysteric giggle on the inside just barely. John could never know. Couldn't know that Rodney had been spending a lot of his mental capacities to remember what John's hair had felt like, how John's hand had felt holding onto his. That he had a fondness of watching John leave the labs just so he could look at his ass in the standard BDUs. He _couldn't know_.

John looked at him, a frown on his face. But he didn't press the point, just shrugged and then asked, "So, where are we going?"

"You can pick," Rodney said. He wasn't bothered where they went, as long as he could get this whole thing behind him as fast as possible. The SGC mess was safe territory. There were people there, people who knew both of them. _Military_ people. Rodney knew how to act around there only too well. But this already felt too much like a date and Rodney was terrified of slipping up. "I don't care."

"Hey, now, that's not a very nice thing to say to your date. Considering _you_ are supposed to take _me_ out," John said, starting the car. "Also, I remember you said something about an Italian restaurant and you'd better remember the directions."

Rodney suddenly felt cold and hot at the same time. "What?" he asked dumbly.

"Directions, Rodney. How to get from point A to point B. Preferably as quickly as possible. Do you remember them?" John stopped for the guards to check their IDs.

Rodney stared at John's profile, trying to get his bearings. "Date?" he asked, making sure that he'd heard correctly. That John wasn't using his rather unique brand of humor to make a joke, that he wasn't being cute.

"Don't tell me you forgot. I thought I was the one they drugged, not you. Or did that doctor slip you something for yelling at him for most of the flight?"

"Date?" Rodney asked again, unable to get over the word. Especially because he'd spent the past few hours convincing himself that it _wasn't_ a date. Couldn't be a date. That John had forgotten all about their – admittedly rather one-sided – conversation in the ambulance and just wanted to go out as friends.

John grinned at him briefly before looking back at the street. "You sound like a broken record, Rodney. Yes, date. What did you think this was?"

His overactive mind supplied a dozen answers to that, mostly in the line of "going out as friends", but Rodney didn't say any of that. "I," he said, then stopped. He hadn't known. He hadn't even dared to hope that it really could be a date. "I thought you didn't remember," he finally muttered. "I thought the whole thing wasn't what you wanted. I _thought_ the stuff they gave you made you hallucinate. Things like that happen." Rodney felt hot and cold alternatively, his hands twitching in his lap, and he closed his eyes. "Pull over."

John glanced at him again, but he did pull over and stopped the car, then turned to look at Rodney. "You okay?" he asked, worry written all over his face.

Instead of answering, Rodney reached out with a shaking hand and brushed his fingers over the side of John's face, thrilled when John leaned into the touch. "This is _madness_," he muttered. "This is what going insane probably feels like." He pulled back, getting as much distance between the two of them as the car allowed. "I want to go back to the SGC."

"What?" John asked, bewildered. He put his hand on Rodney's shoulder, making Rodney jump. "I don't know what you're going on about, Rodney, but this _is_ what I want. I wasn't sure you were interested, because my memories of most of the flight are a bit hazy. But I remember you saying we'd go grab a pizza. And I said it was a date. You were worried for me." He stopped, chuckled and winked at Rodney mischievously, "I also remember patting your ass. If you're interested and I'm interested, then what is your problem?"

"You don't see the problem?" Rodney laughed, unable to keep the hysteria out of it this time. "John, you're military. They're making you a Lieutenant Colonel. You're going to command a _base_. And I'm not going to destroy your career. They might need you, but they can still make your life hell," Rodney forced himself to say. "I won't. I can't. I love you too much for that." _Cra_p, he thought. He hadn't wanted to say that last bit. Hadn't even known he felt that way until he'd said it.

"You … Rodney, you love me?" John asked. His voice was low, and there was something in it that Rodney just couldn't identify.

"I can't do casual. Not with you. Not that I've ever been especially _good_ at casual. I tend to get very focused on things. People. _A person._ Generally the involved party doesn't like me back though, so we're already ahead on the bell curve here. I won't … no, I _can't_ sneak around behind everybody's back and there is no way this can just be a one night stand." Rodney crossed his arms in what he hoped was showing his determination, even though he mainly did it to stop himself from reaching out for John again. "I know you probably don't feel the same, that if at all this is just some strange sort of Stockholm–"

"Rodney," John tried to interrupt, but Rodney wouldn't let him.

–syndrome. Once you come to your senses–"

"Rodney."

"– and realize that I'm not really a nice person you'll drop me like a hot potato. And by then we'll be stuck–"

"Will you just _listen_ for a moment?" John asked, clearly exasperated.

"–in the city together. And it'll all blow up in our faces. You'll hate me and we're going to end up _killing_ each other and–"

John made a frustrated noise and suddenly he was there, practically in Rodney's lap, hands framing Rodney's face, his soft lips on Rodney's. The kiss stayed one-sided for a heartbeat, then Rodney wrapped his arms around John and pulled him closer. He moaned and opened his mouth, letting John in before he realized just what he was doing there.

The need to breathe ended the kiss, but John stayed right there, in Rodney's space, their forehead's touching. "We shouldn't be doing this. It's going to ruin your life, your career. I can't … John, I can't _do_ this."

"You're not going to ruin my career. We're not going to sneak around. And they're certainly not going to make my life hell. I've been hiding and denying a part of myself for longer than I care to remember," John said, unusually serious. "Before I signed the contract I gave them a few terms they'd have to meet. It's not common knowledge yet, but the Atlantis expedition won't be subject to the uniform code. I can love whomever I want." He paused and pulled back far enough to look at Rodney. "And I love _you_." Moving back in, John brushed a chaste kiss on Rodney's lips. "You said they need me and you were right. The IOA was bending over backwards to get me to sign. I made them put it into writing, they can't back out."

"Oh." Rodney blinked. He felt numb. That was how Rodney felt. He cleared his throat. "John …" He didn't know what to say. "I … how about a pizza?" Rodney heard himself asking. "I know this great place that delivers."

And John smiled at him. A bright, delighted smile. "Alright," he answered and slid back into the driver's seat. He started the car. "I think two takeouts and room service can, all in all, be counted as three dates."

Rodney snorted. "You're cheap."

"So I am," John said, his voice warm and amused.

Ooo00O00ooO

John still couldn't believe that they were in Atlantis. In a city, that murmured to him while he was sleeping and spoke to him when he was awake. Sitting in the jumper, Rodney next to him, Ford and Teyla behind them, John felt whole for the first time in his life. Like a missing piece had slid into place. "Ready?" he asked, unnecessarily, but this was their first real mission as a team.

"Let's just _go_ already," Rodney griped, "I don't want to be away from the labs too long. God knows what those morons they made me take will get up to in the time we're off world."

But John knew Rodney well enough to know he was only complaining because, he was as excited as John was. Ford and Teyla only grinned at John when he turned to look at them, then John shrugged and touched the controls, the Puddlejumper starting to life beneath his hands, humming to him. "This is Puddlejumper One, we're ready for take-off," John told control and the floor opened up to them, Atlantis guiding the ship into starting position. All John had to do was hold on. "Anything you'd like us to bring back for you?"

"A ZPM," Elizabeth said and John could hear the smile in her voice.

"That's already on the shopping list," he retorted and then they were through the Stargate. Coming out of the wormhole in space was exciting. John loved the Puddlejumpers and the ease with which they moved through everything. Air, water, _space_. They soared towards the planet and as they went down into the atmosphere, they were bathed in orange.

"Wow," Rodney breathed.

Privately John seconded Rodney's statement. As they swooped towards the ground everything he saw was red. "Look at that!"

They shared a gleeful look. "Gallifrey!" they crowed at the same time.

"What is a Gallifrey?" Teyla asked from behind them and John heard Rodney giggle. It was probably the best sound _ever_. "Maybe I do not want to know," Teyla said, changing her mind. She seemed amused and John was intensely glad that the first thing they had done was to go to Athos.

"It's from a TV series, Teyla," Rodney said, enthusiasm making him talk even faster than normal. "Called Doctor Who and …"

Leaning back as the 'jumper brushed over a forest that glittered silver in the orange light, John tuned out Rodney's unwanted explanation and thought back on the last six months of his life. On the changes that had occurred. Of Rodney. Atlantis. All the exciting new places they were going. He thought about losing the skies and gaining a galaxy. About the puddlejumpers that hummed to him and a city that sang him to sleep at night. And realized that he had finally come home.

The end.

* * *

**Additional Author's Notes:** There were three scenes that started this fanfic: Rodney having a chat with Landry, John having a hissy fit in a hotel room, and a 'jumper flying through an orange sky. Funnily, the scene I wrote first didn't actually make it into the story and I had to back-track half-way through to add the second one. Even before the beta this story was 26 pages (roughly 14.500 words) long. I think I've really proven by now that short isn't something I can do. So I've decided that from now on I'll stop trying to pretend.


End file.
